Head Vs Heart or Why Life Is Never Easy
by chancetofly24
Summary: MeredithDerek, AddisonDerek. NC17 for mature sexual content. Derek misses her. Please R&R! :


This was written for the prompt "Derek: what I should do, what I'm doing". I hope you enjoy this, please read and review:)

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There has always been a line in life, one that you either cross or you don't. Crossing it doesn't automatically designate bravado or courage, and it doesn't warrant some sort of medal or award. You simply cross it, and your life adjusts to its consequences.

Just as there are no prizes for crossing it, there are also no demerits for staying where you are, where things are easier. It's your choice, your life. You either cross it or you don't, and no one can fault you for it. Sure, they can try, especially if the line is some monumental, life-altering line, one that seems almost physically real to you. But unless you let them, they don't get to you. Or at least, they're not supposed to.

You're trying to remind yourself of this as you knock on her door, wondering what consequence this will have on your life. It's not a public line, not one anybody but yourself (and soon, her) knows about, but it's one that might as well be written on your face for everyone to see.

And you tried – really, you did. You moved on. You spent time with your wife, meeting her for lunch as often as you could, taking her out for your newly planned weekly date nights (hoping that with those, the tensions of everything from the hospital would fall away), watching her as she performed countless surgeries. She would smile up at you after every successful surgery, winking and tilting her head in the same manner, and you would stand for a few more seconds, the corner of the wall digging into your back, before you'd head down to meet her in the scrub room, kissing her on the cheek and congratulating her on yet another perfect surgery. It had become routine for the two of you, routine like it used to be before everything had gotten messed up. You felt like maybe everything would be okay – you were working on things, and you felt happier than you had in a while.

But still, seeing her in the halls everyday was absolute torture. You would spot her from far away (you were always drawn to her), and your heart and stomach would twist and twist until you were sure that they would crack your body right in half and burst out, showing the world exactly how broken you were. But it didn't, so you just worked on breathing _in and out in and out_ while she walked closer, and you looked up from the chart you were pretending to read to meet her eyes and smile softly, as she nodded, "Dr. Shepherd." And your heart always broke at such _formality_, not at all like it used to be, and you contemplated touching her arm and pulling her in towards you, even to just smell her scent, but then your eyes would come back into focus and she would be gone.

There's always that line, between what you should be doing, what you know is right, and what you're doing now. But now, seeing her open the door and smile at you questioningly, her hand on one hip, the line seems blurred and… well, maybe it's not a line. Maybe it's more like a guideline, really.

"Hey," she says cautiously, clearly surprised at you showing up at her doorstep. And why wouldn't she be? You've barely talked to her in six months, no more than what was required for a neuro consult on one of her cases. But you miss her. That's the truth of it. You miss her; you miss her with every fiber of your being, every day now, all the time. It used to just be a fleeting thing, seeing her laugh and missing the sound that filled your ears almost daily. Then, it became more of a dull longing – longing to feel her body curled into yours, longing to thread your fingers through her hair and kiss her senseless. Now, it's just full-fledged missing. You miss her. You _miss_ her. _You miss her_.

Which, against your better judgment, is why you're here. You're crossing the line, the line you made when you said you couldn't see her anymore. It had been hard, but at the time you'd thought it was for the best. Now you're starting to think twice about that, and when you try to think about things and overanalyze, it makes you do crazy things.

Obviously.

"Hey," you say back, stuffing your hands in your pocket and looking down to scuff your shoe against the floor. You open your mouth, only to shut it again, because you're not really sure to what to say. What do you say to the woman whose heart you broke into a million little pieces, even if she won't admit it?

Luckily, she's always had a gift for breaking the silence in awkward situations, and it's what saves you yet again. "You wanna come in?"

You nod graciously, and step into the house as she holds open the door. You take in your surroundings, seeing how nicely it is decorated. It's just so… _her_. The flowers in the hall – lilies, her favorite – the color choices, the furniture placed just so. You stand in the hall as she shuts the door and turns to you, leaning against it, and asks the question you'd been dreading:

"Derek, why are you here?"

You'd been dreading it because really, you're not sure why you're here. You miss her, sure, but you also miss your parents and yet, you don't show up on their doorstep unannounced at 11 PM on a work night. There's just something unexplainable about her, something that draws you in. It's why you could never get enough of her while you were dating, why even now when you look in her eyes, you feel your heart swell. It's why, even when she would lay cuddled up to your side, you wanted her closer, and you would tug at her arm and back, kneading the skin and trying to get her as close as possible until she would smile lazily up at you and kiss you, and everything would be forgotten.

You decide on telling the truth, since you're not really sure what to say, but judging by her reaction, it probably wasn't the best idea.

"No. No, Derek. You can't do this to me now." She moves a few steps to the side, trying to inch past you and into the other room, but you grab her arms gently. She struggles against you and you can see the tears in her eyes. "No! I've moved on, we've… we've moved on..." She trails off and you tilt her chin up so you can look at her.

"I know," you say. You feel your mouth tug into a lop-sided grin, "But I miss you, Addie. I miss you." You whisper the last three words and she seems to have lost the anger inside of her, because she leans forward and lets her head fall on your chest, your arms wrapping around her back.

You stay there silently for a few minutes, rubbing circles on her back as she sighs into your shirt, her hot breath sending shivers down your spine. You relish in the feel of her in your arms until you feel her begin to move, and you loosen your hold on her. You're surprised when she walks past you into the kitchen, and even more surprised when you follow her and see her pull a beer from the fridge and take a long drink from it.

"Addie, I –"

"No, Derek. You don't get to do this. _You_ divorced _me_. You signed the papers. You picked her. You're married, Derek! You moved on, and I tried. I tried, Derek, even though it broke my heart to see you with her everyday. I know you know what that feels like, but you did it anyways. And those looks you gave me, your goddamn McDreamy looks, they didn't make it any better."

"Addison, I didn't mean –"

You can see her eyes tearing up even further, threatening to spill over. "It doesn't matter to you that I tried, does it? It doesn't matter that I went out on dates, trying to move on, to get over you, but the whole time, I was comparing them to you! It doesn't matter to you, because you only want what you want. You don't care about me, about how hard it is for me everyday, about the fact that I still can't move on with my life!" The tears are streaming down her cheeks now, and her hands are flying all over in the air, and it kills you that you can only watch. "I am one of the top neo-natal surgeons in this _country_, and I can't even get over my ex-husband, even though he cheated on me, once when I was only feet away. How pathetic is that?" She's lost momentum now and you see her slumping against the counter, sinking slowly down. She hits the floor and buries her face in her hands, pulling her knees up to her chest and sobbing. You step forward, sitting down next to her and pulling her to you so that she's practically on your lap. You smooth her hair and hold her as she cries, until they've tapered out and the tears are intermittent now.

"I hate you for breaking me," she whispers and you nod against her head, because there's nothing else you can say.

The two of you sit there, legs and arms entwined together, for a long time before either of you moves. Her head is snuggled into the crook of your neck, with your chin resting on top, and her legs are over and in and around yours, and you're playing with the bare ring finger of the hand you're holding. You feel yourself drifting off, the comfortable heat and exhaustion of the day seeping into your bones, when you hear Addison clear her throat and begin to untangle herself from her. She stands up with her back to you, bracing one arm on the counter and using the other to alternatively push her hair behind her ears and wipe remaining tears from her eyes and cheeks.

"You, uh… you should probably go, Derek." She says this as she's turning around, so that when she's finished, she's looking you straight in the face. You can see the pain still hidden behind her eyes, the tear trails dried on her face, her cheeks slightly flushed. She looks shattered; broken from the inside out. But you just look at her, knowing your eyes reflect the sadness she feels in her heart, and you nod. You're not going to force her into anything, and she's right. This probably isn't fair to her. So you miss her. Maybe you should have thought about that before you divorced her. You sigh and walk yourself to the front door, turning the doorknob but stopping when you hear her whisper, "I miss you too."

You turn around and look at her again – her rumpled clothes and hair, the way her eyes look even more red after she's been crying because of her hair. You only need one look, one glance at the woman before you, and you're closing the space between you in giant steps, leaps, pressing her face to your chest with one hand and caressing her hair and back with another.

The guilt starts to work its way into you as you're holding her, because all you can think of is _I did this I did this I did this_. It doesn't matter that you called her Satan, that you held every little flaw against her until she couldn't take it anymore. It doesn't matter that you're married, that she's single and searching. She's still yours, in every way that matters. She still has your heart, and you're not sure you can ever get it back.

You whisper her name over and over, trying to comfort the sobs that are leaving her mouth. You hate that she's reduced to this – that strong, fiercely independent Addison Forbes Montgomery is clinging to your shirt, the fabric twisted in her fist, and she's crying so hard that she can hardly breathe. You rub her back and kiss her hair and pull her closer until she reduces herself to hiccups. You gently push her away from you so you can look into her face.

"Addie." She looks up at you, her eyes hopeful and remorseful and angry and sad all at once. They look like oceans when they're filled with tears, the blueness shining like the sun on the sea. You feel like you're drowning in them and you shut your eyes to try to blink back your own tears that are building, and suddenly her mouth is on yours, soft and warm. You're surprised at first, since you definitely didn't see this coming. A slap, maybe, but not a kiss, and certainly not one this tender. You pull back, searching her eyes as she looks down, her fingers tracing the buttons on your shirt.

"Addie, are you –"

"Yes," she says finally, looking up at you. "I'm sure, Derek. Yes, I'm still mad at you and at myself that I can't get over you. But more than that, I miss you." Her eyes tear up again. "I love you. I'll always love you." She trails off as her mouth covers yours again, and you taste the salt from the tears that had lain there. You thread your fingers into her hair, the silkiness slipping through them as you pull her closer. She wraps her arms around your back, tracing invisible patterns similar to the ones she is now tracing in your mouth with her tongue. You moan softly and push her back against the wall, firmly but not hard. This wasn't something you wanted to rush or take for granted. You didn't want it to be something that was frenzied and ended in a climax of passion, only to fade away. No, you wanted this to last. You wanted to re-discover every part of her body, every part you'd been missing.

So you kiss her and kiss her, only pulling back when the two of you need air. You kiss each other like you never have before, and it's refreshing to not be thinking about what's coming and what you should be doing. It's just you and Addison, in this moment – no wandering hands, no hidden agendas. Finally, she pulls away, kissing down your jaw as she does. And then she stops, and lifts her chin to look you in the eyes. It's almost like you're seeing a different person now, a different girl. She looks relieved, and healed, like the magic of your touch cured her sins and failures. You just watch her, not wanting to push her into anything she doesn't want to do. But you don't have to worry, because she gives you a small nod, an affirmation, and then she's unbuttoning your shirt from the bottom up, taking her time pushing the buttons through the holes, and dancing her fingers lightly across your chest as she does so.

You breathe in sharply at the contact and see her eyes light up when you do. She reaches the top and leaves the material hanging open, so you reach up and bring it down your arms and off, enabling your arms to lift back up to her face, cupping it gently. You kiss her slowly and when you break away, you begin trailing kisses across her jaw, over to her ear where you place a very wet kiss behind it (eliciting a moan from her, which you knew it would) and nibble softly on it before you kiss down her throat and outline the dip in her collarbone with your tongue. You straighten back up to capture her lips again, and when you pull away to tug her shirt over her head, she bites down gently on your lower lip, silently asking you questions you don't know if you have the answer to. But you continue to slip your hand under her shirt, your surgeon's fingers outlining patterns on her toned stomach and continuing up and up until they run along the bottom edge of her bra before you lift the shirt up and up, her arms rising above her head so you can remove the article of clothing. You do, and your hands come down to land on her shoulders, your pinkies gliding under the straps of her bra, fiddling with them and making her breath grow increasingly shallow and her eyelids droop shut.

You stop playing with them and her eyes snap open, confusion and a hint of frustration on her face. You tell her to shut her eyes again and she does without question. You stand there for a second, just looking at how beautiful she looks in the dim light from the kitchen and dining rooms, and how completely vulnerable she appears, her eyes closed and her emotions all in your possession. You feel a sudden rush of love wash over you, and your hands are back on her in a second, needing to feel more of her creamy skin against yours. She gasps after you unclasp her bra and guide the straps down her arms, the cool air hitting her. And then she gasps again when you start circling her left nipple with your tongue while you're outlining the other with your fingertips.

You suck and rub and lick until she's almost gasping for breath, and then you pull away and start trailing kisses back up her chest, pausing only to kiss the scar on her shoulder from a skiing accident the second year you were dating. You think to yourself how strange it is that you know her body almost better than she does – every cut and scar and the story behind it, like the one on her stomach from when she had chicken pox or the one on her forehead from a fall on the playground when she was little, and every place that she liked to be touched, good or bad – but you'd been without it for months. Someone that is practically the other half of you, and for months, you never got to touch them or feel them or taste them. No wonder you missed her so much, you think to yourself. It was like walking around with only half of a soul.

You kiss her mouth again, feeling how eagerly she responds as she slips her tongue into your mouth, exploring parts she had gone without for so long. The kiss becomes more and more passionate as your tongue duels with hers, slipping and sliding over and under and around each other until you're not sure where you stop and she begins. You feel her tugging at your belt buckle, trying to pull it loose, and you cover her hands with yours, getting the buckle undone together. She slides your pants down your hips and runs her fingernails lightly over your thighs, grinning at the moan she gets out of you.

You kiss her again and start tugging on her earlobe again until she presses you closer to her and whispers in your ear, "I'm ready." You nod against the side of her face and lean back, pulling your boxers down and kicking them off before you pull down her underwear as well. Looking into her eyes, you put your hands under her thighs and lift her up against the wall, her legs easily wrapping around your hips and crossing neatly in the back. You reach your hand down between the two of you and ease two fingers inside of her, your thumb brushing against her clit as she arches off the wall, her chest heaving towards you. You begin moving your fingers in and out of her, curling up at each exit, while you tease her nipples with your tongue, swirling and biting gently down until you feel her start to tighten around you, and she moans. You remove your hand and kiss her open-mouthed, your tongues sloppily colliding. Her eyelids are still shut and fluttering, and you keep kissing her as you push into her, filling her. She gasps against your mouth, sucking your air in with hers, and moans loudly. Hearing her response makes you shudder against her, and you start moving slowly.

You hold onto her bare hips as your bodies rock together, sweaty chest against sweaty chest. Her fingers tangle in your hair as you lay kisses all over her chest, running your tongue along the underside of her breasts as they move in front of you. You feel yourself getting close, and you're glad when you hear her moans growing louder, because you don't want to finish before she does. You start thrusting in and out of her faster, and your thumb finds her clit, rubbing small circles as you continue to move. Her body starts clenching around you and she clamps onto your shoulder and starts making these little breathy sounds that you could never resist and you're moving and pushing and _there_. You groan as you come together, and she lets her head fall back against the wall, her fingernails still digging into your shoulders.

You rest your forehead on her chest until you've caught your breath, and you let her down slowly, making sure her legs aren't wobbling anymore and can support her before you lean in to kiss her, your fingers splayed across her side. She kisses you back feverishly, and you both pull away breathing heavily and smiling at each other. You grab her hand and pull her to you, kissing her forehead and leading her into the living room, where you grab a blanket and wrap it around the two of you as you lay on the couch in each others' arms.

You lay there comfortably with each other, not saying anything, until you feel Addison's breath steady against your chest. You know she's fallen asleep and you let yourself start to drift off, completely content in the moment.

You can live your life by the rules – the pre-drawn lines that define our existence, trying to box you in and regulate your every move – or, you can cross them and take the heat, take whatever life hands you and deal with it.

And if you do? The view from the other side is spectacular.


End file.
